


For a night

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, inappropriate vehicular activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: “You’re real,” he says, foolishly. Then she kisses him, and he stops talking.Furiosa meets Max, out in the wasteland.Fill for thesmutty_arts art prompt challenge, inspired bythis beautiful NSFW artbyyoukaiyume.





	For a night

She comes out of the desert like a dream.

Max hasn’t checked the approaches for an hour. This cave breaks the journey across a harsh stretch of open desert, offering shelter, protection and a dribble of water – not enough to sustain a person, but it takes the strain off his own tanks. There’s a view for miles, and only one realistic route up to the cave. He doesn’t exactly let his guard down here, but he can afford to come close.

It’s a shock to spot someone heading his way, a figure in the distance. He waits and watches, sees the shadow resolve into a motorbike, following a course straight towards him. The cave isn’t visible from the plain; this is the first sign he’s had that anyone else knows it’s here. 

He goes to get his sniper rifle, ready to cover the bike as it comes into range. Then he blinks and stares, because even when she’s muffled up against the sun he knows her, even before he sees the sun glinting on the metal of her left hand.

She rides smoothly up the winding path. Dismounting at the cave mouth, she pulls the bike inside, leans it against the inner wall, safely out of sight.

Turning to face him, she unwraps her scarf and peels off her goggles. She’s at her most imperious, looking fierce and proud and mischievous. Max is still staring, not speaking, not wanting to break whatever spell has brought her here. Furiosa drops the scarf and keeps going, unfastening her arm and laying it carefully down. 

That’s when he knows he’s not dreaming. There’s a characteristic neatness to the way she handles her arm; he spots what looks like a new modification on one of her steel fingers. As she bends to undo her boots, he shrugs off his jacket and starts to undress, hypnotised by her example. If it feels like stripping to bathe in a mirage, he doesn’t care. He’ll risk washing in sand.

When they’re both naked, she steps into his space, bodies bumping and then fitting together. She’s warm under his hands, her skin a little gritty with sweat and dust. 

“You’re real,” he says, foolishly. Then she kisses him, and he stops talking. 

They’re clamped together, both breathing hard. When he picks her up, she wraps her legs around his waist, pressing close with his cock hard against her belly. He carries her the short distance to his car.

It has a cushioned back seat and a little more protection from the outside world. That’s not why he’s taking her there. He wants her in his space, to see her where he’s so often imagined her. 

He has to put her down to get the door open. She slips into the car before he can, sitting down and wriggling backwards. Max follows so fast that he nearly loses his balance, comes close to faceplanting between her legs. She laughs at that, opening them wider. He gets his hands on her thighs and stares. 

Furiosa is sprawled out on the back seat of his car, bare and beautiful against the worn upholstery. He leans in to kiss her inner thigh, meaning to linger, but once he starts he can’t stop. He wants to taste her, wants to make her so wet she drips onto the leather of the seats. He gets his face between her legs, fast and greedy, smiling into her cunt when she moans. There isn’t space for her to open her thighs any wider, but she puts her hand in his hair, urging him in. He licks and sucks until she’s gasping, feeling her twitch and shudder against his mouth, feeling her come.

She tugs at his hair when she’s had enough. He kisses her thigh again, then sits up, turning to get more legroom. Furiosa clambers onto his lap, her hand on the nape of his neck.

She’s here. She’s here and she’s real, a solid weight against him, muscle and hard nipples and sweat, her breath quick and warm on his cheek. With an impatient noise, she gets her knees planted, pushing herself up to help him press inside her. She groans as he slides home, tight and shivery around him. Then she gives one determined squirm, lifting her legs so she can get them around his waist, with a ruthless grind down that leaves them both gasping.

Fucking in the car is a tight fit. One of his knees is wedged against the back of the front seat, though he likes the way that tips her more firmly onto him. He gets both arms around her, hands clasped to make a circle around her hips, holding her close. Furiosa sets her back against the front seat, getting herself steady, and pumps her hips in short, deep thrusts.

She’s grinding hard and urgent, her panting breath turning into moans. Max is even louder, groaning when she squeezes. Unlike at the Citadel, there’s no one to hear them, no reason to expect an interruption. Except that, in this empty wasteland, any interruption could be fatal. It’s more private and much more dangerous, a stupid risk that he’s glad he’s taking. The sense of danger is intoxicating. He could look past her, check the mouth of the cave, but instead he notices the way the late sunlight gilds her shoulders. She clamps down around him, and he stops seeing even that, spilling into her with a shout. 

He holds her while they get their breath back, her cheek touching his. The evening light is fading, casting her face into shadow. He strokes her back, feeling the softness of her skin, the strong lines of muscle. 

“I thought you were at the Citadel,” he says, kissing her shoulder, on the line of light and shade.

“Rode out to check on Gilly, how her oasis is doing,” she says. One of the Vuvalini has found a patch of thin soil beyond the Citadel, is trying to coax it into life. “Came the long way back, through the trading posts. I heard you were heading this way.” 

It was a fair guess, at least as to direction. He’s out here because he needs the desert, but he’s also on Citadel business, scouting his way towards Bartertown. He hums a question, not seeing how she came straight to him.

“You brought me here,” she reminds him. “In a storm.” It’s true, they’ve sheltered here before. He’s still amazed that she could find it again. Furiosa stretches, starts to unwind herself from around him. “I’m hungry,” she says.

Once they’ve got themselves out of the car, she goes to search her saddlebags, still stark naked. They pool resources for dinner, his lizard jerky and her handful of fruit. They sit together to watch the sun go down, wrapped in the blanket she’s brought. She leans back against his chest, seated between his legs.

Max keeps feeling little shocks about it: that she’s here, that she’s naked, that they’re picnicking so heedlessly. He knows it’s not safe, not really safe, but it’s like being inside a charmed bubble, a shelter spun from desert magic. 

“You could come with me?” The words are out before he realises he’s going to say them. “To Bartertown.” They’ve shared scouting missions before, but she can’t often leave her duties. Somehow it’s easier to ask out here, away from the Citadel and its demands. She looks tempted, but shakes her head. 

“Trade run in two days. They’re expecting me back, they’d worry.” She’ll have to leave in the morning, if she’s to be back in time. The thought of her Citadel family’s anxiety gives him a pang. He thinks of the times he’s taken longer away than he meant to, times he’s got into trouble and limped back later than expected. 

“Just for one night, then,” he says, his arms back around her. 

“One night,” she agrees, leaning into him. The moon is rising, showing the desert plain more clearly. 

“I’ll take first watch,” he offers, tucking the blanket around her. She nods, snuggles closer.

He has no intention of waking her. She’ll want to leave early in the morning, to be sure of crossing the baking plain before the full heat of the day. He’ll move on later, travelling mostly by night, so he has less need of rest now. He looks at her face almost as often as he looks at the desert, watching her lie soft and trusting in sleep.

The moon is almost full, very bright over the wide, barren flats. Max becomes aware that Furiosa is drooling a little, where her head is tipped against his arm. Wasteland visions probably don’t dribble, he thinks, fighting the fondness in his chest, the urge to catch her up and hug her closer. Perhaps he should have, because she stirs and stretches anyway.

“You were going to let me sleep.” He doesn’t deny it. Furiosa gets up, walking further out to the cave mouth. She stands there, naked in the moonlight, looking out across the plain. The light picks out her cropped hair, her long limbs. She has never looked more like a desert goddess. When she turns back to him, he shuffles up to kiss her thighs, small kisses on her hips and belly, between her legs. His cock is waking up again. She is addictive, his body demanding when he looks at her. 

“In your car,” she says, her voice low and rough. They scramble to get there.

They get in from opposite sides, meeting in hasty tangle in the back seat. Furiosa shuts the door and slides down against it, legs splayed. The look on her face is entrancing, open-mouthed and abandoned. Max surges up, hanging onto the seat backs to pull himself over her, reaching down to grab hold of her. 

Sometimes, with her, he feels feral again, all instinct and possessive hunger. He works his hand down between her legs, grunting with pleasure at how wet she is, at the way she thrusts against his fingers. She’s hanging onto the headrest so she can press up against him.

“Inside me, inside me,” she says, gasping into his ear. “Fuck me like this. Now.” Max growls, sucking at her throat. She purrs and whines, writhing up against him, thighs spreading wider. He gets one knee against the seat, his weaker left leg braced against the floor, holding her tight as he pushes into her.

It’s frantic and wonderful, the slap of flesh and the way she’s clutching him, gripping him with her arms and legs and the muscles of her cunt. He sucks more kisses onto her shoulder, feeling her twitch when he gets his fingers back to her clit. When he grasps her tighter around the waist, she moans at the way it tips her hips, changing his angle. Max growls again, his fingers still working, shifting his own position so he can keep fucking her right there, right where it makes her clench around him.

He loves it when she’s noisy, loves the sounds she’s making now. He knows it’s dangerous, but he’s turned on by her abandon, wants to wring everything out of her. He’s fucking into her and holding himself over her, ready to shield her if anyone did attack. He feels her buck and shiver under him, around him, sobbing and wild.

Neither of them last long after that. Furiosa wails when she lets go, her hand fisting in his hair. Then she wraps herself tighter around him, gives him a deliberate little bite on his throat. Max groans and goes silent, gripping her tight as he comes. 

They’re both shaky as they peel themselves apart, bodies sticking together with sweat. 

“Water,” she says.

“Yeah,” Max agrees, but it’s a moment before his legs feel steady enough to hold him up.

They get water, and more jerky, checking the approaches again. Between their supplies and the cave’s tiny stream, there’s even enough water to clean up a little. She slips her half-arm around him as they look out over the plain, and that’s it, he doesn’t want to stop touching her, nuzzling against her shoulder and stroking her sides. There is nothing out there, nothing visible for miles, and she is here in his arms. 

They’re both so out of it that they retreat to the car with her blanket, too tired and too needy to set proper watch. If the back seat is cramped for sex, it makes a stupidly crowded bed. Max doesn’t care, just wants to hold her like this. They spoon on the back seat, feet sticking out of one open door, the blanket and his arm tucked around her to make sure she doesn’t fall into the footwell. The car is going to smell of sex for days, of sex and of her. He wonders how long it will last, knows he’ll be sleeping in the back seat until it fades.

He wakes before dawn. When he slides out from behind Furiosa, she stirs and mumbles.

“Go back to sleep,” he says. “S’fine.” She sighs, relaxes again. He stands watching her for a while, before making himself go to look over the desert. 

When he comes back, he finds her stretched out on her belly, the blanket pushed aside. She moves again, looking sleepily over her shoulder at him. Max climbs back into the car, climbs onto her, kissing her back and her neck. There are pink marks on her shoulders, on her throat, from where he’d sucked and bitten her last night. He kisses them, his mouth soft, feeling her relaxed and warm under him.

He stops when Furiosa wriggles, but she only reaches up to open the car door, giving them a little more space. Then she gropes for his hand, laces their fingers together.

He knows she’ll have to leave soon, doesn’t want to let her go. He wonders if this is how it is for her, when he leaves. It only makes him want to hold her tighter.

She moves under him again, pushing her hips up, sleepy but seductive. He’s already half-hard against her buttock, his cock twitching. He slips his other hand between her legs, feels her shiver when he strokes her. 

“Go easy,” she murmurs. “Fucked hard last night.” She nudges him when he pauses. “I didn’t say stop.” Max laughs, kissing her neck and stroking again. She makes a pleased noise, holds his hand tighter. 

He keeps his fingers gentle, aware that her pussy is sensitive this morning. Dawn has broken by the time he coaxes another orgasm out of her, slow and sweet and lazy. He holds her a little longer afterwards, watches her put herself back together. 

Very much together. After a moment, she squirms, prodding him to sit up. As soon as he does, she pounces on him, diving into his lap to go down on him with greedy enthusiasm. When he’s come, and she’s lapped up all the splashes, she rolls over to lie with her head on his knee, looking up at him. He strokes her hair, tangles their fingers again.

At last she sighs and sits up. It’s daylight. She’s not late: there a good few hours before the heat gets intense, enough to get her across the plains to the shelter of the canyon beyond. Reluctantly, they start dressing and packing. She rolls her eyes when she finds Max checking that she’s got enough fuel. Later, he spots her sneaking citrus fruit into his pack. 

She has to go. He can’t keep her longer. At the last minute, when her bike stands loaded at the mouth of the cave, he puts his arms around her, holds her close. Furiosa leans against him, her metal arm heavy around his waist. Then, brisk and businesslike, she pulls away, turns back to the bike.

She groans when she gets onto it, looks back at him. 

“Not the best state for a long ride,” she grumbles, wiggling about on the seat as she tries to find a more comfortable position. Max nods in sympathy, but can’t help thinking of her still feeling it, even after she leaves. His eyes linger on her thighs, on her bum.

“Smug,” she says. He hums, shameless.

She looks back at him once, as she works her way around the bend of the curved path. Then she rides away in a long, straight line, back to the Citadel and her promise. He watches until she’s out of sight, and for a long time after.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
